


Proclivity

by Moving_In_Retrograde



Series: Consanguinity [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Authority Kink? & Abuse of Authority, Creepy and Toxic Family Dynamics, Katolis is Camelot AU, M/M, Pre-Slash, Soren has a Crush, Soren is 15, Soren is the only child, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Viren has an Agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moving_In_Retrograde/pseuds/Moving_In_Retrograde
Summary: “If I weren’t your father, you would be embarrassed to stand in front of me like that.”Soren already was embarrassed, much more so than he would’ve ever been if he had instead crossed paths with some stuck-up noble.“I’m sorry,” Soren said as Viren came to a stop in front of him.The man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I am the Crown Advisor, Soren. Is that any way to apologize?”
Relationships: Soren & Viren (The Dragon Prince), Soren/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Consanguinity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943476
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Proclivity

**Author's Note:**

> \- My Lord/My Lady are used by members of the court to speak to the person of the opposite gender in a respectful manner and are applicable if the person is of the same or higher social standing than yourself. Lady Opeli and Lord Viren would use my lady/my lord in conversation.
> 
> \- Sire is used by servants to speak to noblemen, as well as by knights or men at court to address a man who is of a higher social standing than themselves. Soren would call Viren ‘sire’ when other people are present; in private, optionally, if out of respect.
> 
> \- My Lord is never used by men at court to refer to other men. It’s considered to be a crude mistake if made. The only exception to this rule is men speaking to the King who aim to show extreme reverence, fear and awe, usually commonfolk and dedicated knights.

He had been getting ready for bed when he was alerted with a knock to his bedroom door. Guard carrying the message said to come to the study, but it was already locked upon his arrival; which meant his father probably failed to wait for him and turned in for the night. 

For a moment, Soren hesitated before his father’s door. He was unsure as to whether he was allowed inside, or if his father would want to see him at all. They weren’t close, so much so that Soren had never been in his bedroom before. 

He had only returned to Katolis some months back. Unlike his father, who was a studious, highly educated man, born and raised in the castle and by the King’s side, Soren spent most of his time away. Trained at military camps, transferred from one division to another.

He saw his father during brief visits to Katolis, in-between long months of training. Viren was a tall man with dark eyebrows and cold eyes, and sunken-in cheeks. Analytical, pragmatical, rational; between him and Soren, there couldn’t be two people less alike.  
Soren himself, who was tan and had soft blonde hair, and was a hot-headed, adventurous youth. 

Soren felt nervous as he knocked on the doors. His father could be sleeping, but then again, what if he wasn’t and the issue at hand was urgent? He must have had a good reason to call upon Soren at this hour. 

The doors opened in a minute. His father, it seemed, had been readying for bed as well. He was dressed in dark pants and undershirt, same as his son, but still bore one of his long robes, undone, parted with the belts missing. 

“Soren?” 

“Father. My apologies if I have disrupted your evening. Have you called for me?”

Viren looked him over, a mix of intensely focused attention and thoughtfulness. “I had, more than an hour ago. I do hope you are more prompt on the battlefield.” 

He stepped aside, letting Soren trickle in. The boy bit into his lip, shoulders tense as he thought to explain the message-boy was late, and decided against it; his father hated excuses.

“I’m sorry. Was it urgent?”

Soren didn’t see Viren shut the door, too distracted as he discreetly eyed the vast chambers. His father was the advisor to the King and Queen, which made him the third most important person in Katolis. Still, his chambers seemed far too modest for his title, even if large enough to fit three rooms a knight like Soren would sleep in. 

They were clean, excellently organized. Most of the candles were already blown out and the bed-space was immersed in pleasant darkness, tall windows by the worktable open to let cool summer air in. 

“Yes,” Viren said. Then. 

“Why aren’t you wearing your armor?”

Soren turned around to look at him, suddenly feeling his ears and cheeks grow hot. His father’s gaze was unapproving, and his tone was lukewarm, at best. 

“It’s late…” Soren said, flustered. “I was too tired to put it back on. Nobody sees it anyway.”

The answer seemed to leave Viren affronted. The man walked towards him, cane making sharp noises upon connecting with stone tiles. Clank. “I do.”

Clank. Clank. “If I weren’t your father, you would be embarrassed to stand in front of me like that.”

Soren already was embarrassed, much more so than he would’ve ever been if he had instead crossed paths with some stuck-up noble. 

Clank, clank.

“I’m sorry,” Soren said as Viren came to a stop in front of him. 

The man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I am the Crown Advisor, Soren. Is that any way to apologize?”

Soren blinked. Shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. Up close like this, the estrangement between them felt more real, more palpable. He didn’t dare look up at the man.

“Lord Viren,” he tried, mortified at saying his father’s name to his face, “I apologize for my appearance. I didn’t realize anybody would be up to see me at this late hour.” 

He chanced a brief glance up, only to see the pale line of his father’s lips twitch up at the edges. It wasn’t a smile in the broad sense of the word, but he looked less displeased. 

“So you do know common courtesy. Explain to me then, why on Merlin’s green Earth do you not address me properly?” 

Soren opened his mouth and froze. By his father’s title? When they were alone?

“But-, Sire-”

“Being a knight of Katolis,” Viren explained patiently, “Requires you to be a servant to the crown. And that means me, as well. From this moment onward, I am firstly your Lord and the King's advisor. You will have to learn to treat me accordingly if you are to remain in this castle for good.”

“I’m sorry… my Lord,” Soren said, face burning. Then, seeing how his father’s expression softened in satisfaction, he got another idea. He went down on his knees, the same way he’d seen Viren do in front of the King. And reached for his father’s robe. 

“May I?” asked quietly.

He was too embarrassed by his own lack of confidence, shaking hands and a rapid heartbeat that seemed to relocate to his throat and make it hard to breathe or hear. Pathetic and cowardly next to his collected, confident father, he brought the hem of the robe to his lips and kissed it. 

Viren signed. His hand came down and gently patted Soren's hair. 

The unexpected gesture of affection felt like a heavy fist colliding with his solar plexus. Soren never kissed Viren or embraced him. They didn’t touch each other, which Soren didn’t realize to be irregular until he left home for training and observed village children hug their parents goodbye. That longing he got while looking at them stayed with him for years. 

Soren froze and seized breathing for a short while, careful, as if a soothing touch like that was bound to turn into a sudden attack. 

“That’s not right,” Viren muttered, gaze heavy on him, and it sounded like praise, “I’m not a King.”

The tone of the man’s voice sent shivers up Soren’s spine, and he stilled even further, staying on his knees, head lowered. Soren said nothing in response, too shocked by this new development: having his father not only talk to him but encourage him. Be pleased with him. 

“Nobody’s watching, my Lord,” the boy remarked under his breath. Once the words left his mouth, their meaning blurred, and he was no longer sure what he meant in the first place. There was rapt silence, and Soren was scared he had somehow embarrassed himself. Well, embarrassed himself more.

“Yes,” his father said then, and it was unclear whether he was aware of the conundrum unfolding in Soren’s head.

His hand seized combing through grown-out strands of hair, instead coming down to rake short nails across shaved sides, so effortless and routine as if this was regular for them. Even though this was undoubtedly the most affectionate his father had ever been with him, perhaps with the exception of some very early childhood memories.

Long fingers, at last, came to caress his face. Viren’s movements got slower, more thoughtful and weighted, and then almost fully stopped, as if in anticipation of something. Soren turned his head, almost automatically chasing that bliss, inebriated with the intimacy, and allowed his lips to graze Viren’s palm in a soft kiss. 

The hand was carefully withheld from further movement as Soren’s bottom lip caught on the base his father’s thumb. 

“It’s late, I will not hold you any longer,” the man said, withdrawing and turning away from him. Soren swallowed, suddenly scared there was something he did not pick up on, something he must've done wrong. He wished he knew what.

“I will expect you to be in my study by eight sharp,” his father instructed firmly, moving to stand by the windows. “There are a few things I will need you to do, favors for the King. But we can speak of it tomorrow.”

Soren got back up to his feet, legs unsteady from the position he was in, disoriented. He watched his father arrange papers on the table, still hoping for some more of his attention. 

“As you say,” Soren acquiesced. "Sleep well, father, sire."

When he left, Viren did not look at him. Soren wondered, on the way to his room, what was the need to summon him. And if the message-boy was really late at all.


End file.
